


Complicated

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, Hand Jobs, Loss of Control, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For months, Derek has been struggling with his control.  As Scott's second, he can't afford to lose it now, not with the pack relying on the treaties they're trying to broker with the local hunter groups to expand their numbers.  The problem is simple: anger is no longer Derek's anchor.  The solution?  Well... that's where it gets complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verucasalt123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/gifts).



> For VerucaSalt123, for the prompts: "It had been too long since they'd seen each other." and "When life throws you a curve ball, you can choose to stretch and reach for it, or you can just let it fall." 
> 
> I hope you enjoy your fic!

"Have you forgotten the purpose of this meeting, _Señora_?" Scott asked, smiling politely across the table at Araya Calavera. 

Derek looked to his alpha, reading his annoyance in the set of his shoulders and the fact that he _wasn't_ beaming amiably. For someone as laid back as Scott, being reduced to a mere 'polite' was damn near shocking. 

"I have forgotten nothing, _Alfa_. It is you who cannot control _sus lobos_." She pointedly turned her stare on Derek, who stiffened with confusion. 

Having the full attention of the two hunters — Severo had been fixated upon him since the Calaveras hunters had entered the room — ramped up the irritation that had been itching under his skin since he'd woken that morning. He held back a snarl, but felt his claws digging into his legs under the table. 

Dammit. The jeans he was wearing had been his favorites. Maybe he could play the holes off as being fashionably rustic. Ripped jeans were 'in' now, right?

"Derek Hale is my second and a born wolf. He has more control than any were I've ever met. If you find his manners to be anything other than perfect, you might find that to be because your son hasn't removed his hand from the knife at his back since he sat down." Scott's delivery was smooth, perfect, utterly dry. But he brushed the back of his hand against Derek's forearm beneath the table, as if offering his strength. 

" _Severo_ ," Araya hissed just as Deaton, acting as intermediary, calmly said, "No weapons were to be brought to the treaty table. I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask your son to remove himself from the proceedings."

"They are themselves weapons!" Severo shouted, slamming his fist, which was curved around the hilt of a knife, onto the table threateningly. He still hadn't removed his gaze from Derek, who should have been calming down now that the meeting was firmly weighted in their favor, but he was having more difficulty than ever in maintaining his human form. 

Derek could feel the ache in his gums from his fangs, the itch beneath the skin of his brow where the bone wanted to press forward. The hair follicles all over his body sang with the need to sprout fur, and his joints wanted to refold themselves to make running on all fours easier. With each breath, the need to shift grew stronger until he could feel his heart racing in his chest with something akin to panic. Or maybe it _was_ panic. Turning his head slightly, he looked into Scott's eyes, letting his fear show through. 

Scott dipped his chin the slightest bit and cleared his throat. "In the interest of maintaining the peace, Señora Calavera, if you will allow Severo to be removed from the room, I will send my second out as well. I am sure that, with Emissary Deaton's guidance, we can find our way to peace without outside assistance."

Araya stared at Scott for a long moment before sliding her gaze to her son. With a sniff and look that was filled with anger, she jerked her head at him, hissing, " _Déjanos._ This little alpha and I will come to an accord without you."

Scott turned to Derek, smiling easily at him. "Derek, do you mind?"

"Not at all, Alpha," he said, keeping his tone deferential. The Calaveras did not need to know that Scott ran his pack as a democracy, with everyone's input being equally weighted. Nodding at Deaton, he offered a respectful, "Señora" to Araya before pushing his chair back and standing, hands curled loosely to hide his partially-extended claws.

Derek walked out of the meeting room ahead of Severo, fearlessly showing the man his back, though he kept his senses turned to the hunter. He wasn't an _idiot_ , and Severo had already proven himself not to be trusted. He kept walking, keeping his pace as even as possible until he was pushing through the outer doors. Stretching his hearing, he could tell that Severo had stayed behind, to be close to his mother in the event things took a turn, most likely. 

With no one around to witness it, Derek turned toward the forest that lined the property the building was housed on. No sooner had he reached the tree line than he stripped out of his clothes — they really were his favorites — and shifted. A low noise of release burst from his throat as he hit the ground on four paws, shaking himself all over as if to remove the awkward feeling of his human form from the memory of the wolf. 

And then… he ran.

~*~

Scott found him hours later, a bag in his hand that smelled of Derek's clothes, and a worried look on his face. "Dude, you… What's going on with you?" he asked, crouching and sliding the fingers of one hand into the fur that grew thick on Derek's neck. "I've never seen you lose it like that when we weren't in danger."

Derek's ears went back, his tail tucking between his hind legs. Small, awkward noises rumbled from his throat, causing Scott to sit down on his ass in the leaves and dirt, laughter bursting from him. 

"Dude, you looked like you were chewing on those words. Were they words? You know you can't speak in this form, right?" Scritching behind Derek's ear, Scott asked, "Hey, do you think you could turn back? Because even after years of working as a vet assistant, I still don't speak wolf."

Closing his eyes, Derek concentrated, pushing back the wolf and dragging the human out with every bit of his strength. And even then, when he opened his eyes, he could feel that he hadn't pulled hard enough on the human side. His eyes were glowing, showing everything in hyperfocus. Looking down, he saw his fingers were tipped with long, dangerous claws. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he slurred around his fangs.

Worry grew strong in the air, rolling off Scott and mingling with the anxiety pulsing through Derek. 

"We're closer to the new moon than the full moon," Scott said, brow furrowed. "That's the only reason the Calaveras were willing to meet with us. Is it the full shift? Is it…" But then Scott shook his head, obviously reaching the same conclusion as Derek.

"I attained the capability to fully shift two years ago. It can't be that."

"Yeah. Okay, well. Go ahead and shift back. You can ride in my car while I'll take you to Deaton. No one will question me bringing my dog to the vet," Scott said with a twist of his mouth that was probably meant to be reassuring, but just clashed with the worry in his eyes. "We need to find out what's going on with you. Was it just today?" he asked suddenly, eyes flaring briefly red. "Because if the Calaveras did something to you…"

But Derek, already in full wolf form, just awkwardly swung his head from one side to the other before pawing at Scott's leg. One thing he knew for sure. Whatever was going on with him had started long before this meeting with the Calaveras; he'd been having difficulty with his control for months. Climbing into the backseat of Scott's small car, Derek curled up with a whine, burying his nose in his paws and trying not to think about what it might mean if he couldn't find his control again.

~*~

The antiseptic smell of the clinic assaulted Derek's nose as they entered and waited at the counter for Deaton to come from the back to let them through. In the surgery room, Deaton had Derek hop up onto an exam table and then gave him a very general physical before stepping back and crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

"How long do you generally stay in this form, Derek?" Deaton asked. 

Forcing the change back was slightly easier this time without the scent of forest and life all around him. When he was fully back to human, not even a hint of fang or claw showing, Derek allowed a trickle of relief to course through him. Clearing his throat, Derek shrugged in answer to Deaton's last question, smiling his thanks when Scott, slightly red-faced, handed over his bag of clothes. "I don't really time it? I mean, on the full moon, I tend to spend the entire day as a wolf. And then, just… whenever."

"Hours? Days?"

Derek shook his head. "Unless it's the full moon, I usually only spend an hour or two at most as a wolf. I know the danger of staying in wolf form too long."

Deaton scraped a hand along his chin, lips pursed in thought. 

"How long have you been having control issues?" Scott asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. "You said it hadn't just been today, so… can you remember the last time you had full control? Or when you felt it slipping, I guess?"

Derek dropped his eyes to the floor, stomach twisting as he admitted, "The first time I really noticed it was about two months ago. I don't know how long I'd been having problems before that, but I was definitely fine at Christmas," he said, not needing to mention why such a family-oriented holiday would be a test of his control.

"Do you recall what was happening the day you first noticed your control slip?" Deaton turned to a small desk in the corner and pulled a slim journal from it, flipping through pages rapidly. "That would have been sometime in April, correct? There were no threats to the pack in April. Or, at least, none that I was informed of." He looked to Scott, eyebrows raised in question.

"No, not that I remember anyway. And honestly, it's not like we have _forgettable_ issues here in good ol' Beacon Hills."

"Exactly so. Derek, do you recall even brushing against anyone who smelled of magic before your control began to wane?"

Derek searched his memory, but the last time he'd brushed against magic — with the exception of Deaton, of course — had been the small, electric zing of Stiles bumping shoulders with him the last time he'd been home during Spring Break in March. "Not unless Stiles has some reason to want me to lose my control. He was the last person with even a little magic who I had any contact with."

"Stiles." Scott's face morphed into something that was caught between confusion and stunned amazement, and his scent was going _nuts_. "Derek," he said, being a little _too_ gentle, "how did you feel between Christmas and Spring Break? Between Thanksgiving and Christmas?" 

Scott's confusion felt like it was infecting Derek, who just blinked, unsure where Scott was going with this line of questioning. "The time after Christmas is always a little harder; I've never done well with winter, even before…" _The fire_.

Scott shook his head, the gesture harsh, flinging his hair around his head. "Okay, forget that for a minute. What's your anchor?"

"Anger," Derek answered instantly, without even needing to think about it. His anchor had remained unchanged for all the years since his family was murdered by deranged hunters.

"Derek." Deaton edged forward, seeming to understand Scott's mental processes. "When was the last time you remember feeling angry? Not just generally irritated or frustrated, but genuine wrath? The sort that helped you hold on to your control."

Derek's lips parted, but no sound came out. Emotion rushed through him, waves of it that were too varied and confusing to catch and examine. The one that was strongest, though, was fear. Because he couldn't remember. _He couldn't remember the last time he'd been angry._ He still mourned his family, there was no doubt of that, but the anger that had always lived so close to the surface was _gone_ , muted into a jumbled mess of grief and general sadness. 

Sometime in the last year or so, Derek had forgiven himself. The proof of that was a punch to the gut forceful enough to make him curl over, a low whine knocking from him as he writhed, his control beginning to slip again before Scott's voice snapped him back to himself.

"Derek. Stay with us!" There was power in Scott's voice, a _command_ that Derek couldn't ignore even if he wanted to. Scott knelt in front of Derek, hands grasping the sides of his face. "Don't lose it now. I think we're really close to figuring this out, and… And dude, this is a good thing. Okay? It's a _good_ thing that you've let go of your anger."

"I don't deserve—"

"Uh, no. Nope, sorry, not letting you even finish that thought. It was _not your fault_. You know that. I _know_ you know that. No backsliding now. Okay?"

Derek closed his eyes, nodding, even as he allowed one last surge of despair to wash through him, taking the very last threads of his anger with it. It had been almost ten years since the fire. Ten years since he'd been young, and full of pain, and the perfect target for a beautiful, vicious hunter with a deadly goal. Dragging in a shaking breath, he opened eyes that felt too hot and whispered, "I have no anchor now." The fear of that, of having lost his control, shook him again, but having his alpha so close helped him hold onto himself.

"I don't think that's true," Scott said, almost immediately echoed by Deaton's, "Nor I."

"You've been having issues for months, right?" Scott said after a long moment's thought. "But not at Christmas, and not at Spring Break. The only thing that changed during those times—"

"Stiles," Derek muttered, a different kind of horror filling him as he pulled away from Scott. "But that doesn't make sense."

"I mean, I dunno, dude. I think it makes a lot of sense, actually. The two of you have always been..." Scott squinted, obviously considering and discarding several words before he shrugged and said, "Complicated. I mean, even when you hated each other, you were right there, saving each other's asses. And I know you're a lot closer now than you ever were."

"He completes the pack," Derek muttered, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. "Without him, we're… vulnerable."

"Yeah." Scott nodded, grinning happily, like he was just so damn overjoyed that they'd figured out Derek's problem. Only…

Only it wasn't exactly a solution. Stiles was still living seven hours away at his dorm on campus at UCLA. That didn't bode well for a complete pack any time soon. Or for Derek regaining control. 

"I need to find a new anchor," Derek sighed, laying back on the cold tile floor as he contemplated the absurdity of his life.

"Eh." Scott waggled his hand back and forth. "Not really. He'll be home for the summer tomorrow."

~*~

The door to his loft slamming open would have irritated Derek if it weren't for the fact that he was already dealing with the panic that had flooded him the moment he heard the Jeep screeching into the parking area in front of his building. Panic because just the _sound_ of the Jeep, just knowing Stiles was coming, was _home_ , had settled the restless, clawing energy that pushed against the ragged edges of his control.

Panic because Derek's instincts had placed his control in the hands of a human who was far too willing to throw himself in danger to protect the pack. To protect _Derek_.

A human who was crossing the loft toward Derek, emotions chasing themselves across his expressive face and leaking their scent into the room. Excitement, worry, anxiety, … arousal?

"You!" Stiles said, pointing a shaking finger at Derek. "You… you… okay, you're going to have to put clothes on. I can't have this conversation while you're half naked."

Derek wondered if that meant he could postpone this conversation indefinitely if he just never wore clothes again. 

But apparently he shouldn't have delayed, because Stiles whirled away from Derek, dragging his hands through his hair as he shouted, "I'm your anchor?! How is that even…" Spinning on his toe, he narrowed his eyes accusingly and said, "You don't even _like_ me. How can I be your anchor?"

Blinking at that — it was laughably far from the truth, and Stiles was generally smart enough to realize that — Derek just smiled, throwing Stiles right off his stride. "Hello to you too, Stiles. Did you have a good trip? How's school?"

"The trip was record breaking. I got two speeding tickets, which _you're_ paying for, because Scott called me this morning to tell me what's going on and…" Like a puppet with its strings cut, the fight went out of Stiles and he sagged, stumbling toward the couch and falling on it right beside Derek, who just offered him the bag of cheese puffs he'd been crunching his way through. "God, that drive is murder. Even with all the speeding, I got here at the same time because of _tickets_."

"You shouldn't speed," was Derek's sage advice. He brushed the orange dust from his sweats, mentally high fiving himself for distracting Stiles.

"Yeah? Thanks, _dad_. Oh, by the way, we're totally not telling my dad about those tickets. And you're still paying for them," Stiles said, punching Derek in the arm. "Because they're your fault. Scott said you were losing control and I had these, like, flashbacks to Peter's alpha rampage through our lovely, cursed town. It was a nightmare."

Well, shit. His distraction techniques needed overhauling if they couldn't put Stiles off for longer than ten seconds. "Sounds like it's Scott's fault then for misleading you." 

"Derek." Stiles slid his knee onto the couch, turning his whole body toward Derek and propping his elbow up on the backrest. Classic _let's have a chat_ pose. Dammit. " _Was_ Scott misleading me? Am I not your anchor?"

"I like you just fine," Derek blurted, then mentally clawed his own face off, because that was _not_ an answer Stiles needed. Though, judging by his softly parted lips and wide eyes, it was a shock to hear. Idiot. "I mean, I occasionally find you irritating. But I find _everyone_ to be irritating. So." He shrugged, going for the last cheese puff.

"That's. Uh. Okay." Stiles scrubbed his hands over his jeans, gaze flickering around the loft. He inevitably looked back at Derek, though, and asked, his voice as soft as Derek had ever heard it, "Am I your anchor?"

"I've been eating these things off my claws for two days," Derek said, shaking the bag. "So the fact that I have to grab them now with my fingers? Yeah. I'd say you're my anchor."

"Really?" 

Derek just glared at him because... idiot.

"Okay, so what does this mean? Because I remember what it meant for Scott that his anchor was Allison, and when Erica and Boyd were each other's anchors. It meant sex. It meant _so much sex_. Traumatizing amounts of sex. And I'm not just exaggerating here. I was _traumatized_ by the sex Scott was having, because he kept trying to describe Allison's lady parts to me in very intimate detail and if I can have even a _chance_ to return the favor? I am so down with that."

Blinking, Derek held up an orange finger and said, "Let me make sure I understand this. You want to have sex, with _me_ , to pay Scott back for telling you about the sex he had with Allison three years ago?"

"Yes! I mean, wait. No, that's not… Okay, so I am totally ready to fulfill my sexy duties as your anchor because," Stiles made a gesture that seemed to encompass all of Derek — or possibly just the bag of cheese puffs — and then mimed his brain exploding. "But traumatizing Scott? Would totally be the icing on the triple-decker cake, if you know what I mean."

"I _never_ know what you mean," Derek muttered, glaring down at the cheese dust laying thick in the bottom of his now-empty bag.

"You have cheese dust in your chest hair, dude. This is for your own good." Stiles plucked the bag from his hand, tossed it over his shoulder — scattering cheese dust everywhere, goddammit — and settled himself on Derek's lap, knees bracketing him in. "Please don't kill me," he said, right before he leaned forward and licked his way into Derek's mouth. 

And oh, all that restless energy that had been ricocheting around inside him all these months finally found a direction. It focused, calmed, zeroed in on every place Stiles was touching him. His control was a physical thing, something he could _taste_ it was so strong. Pulling free of the kiss, Derek stared at Stiles in wonder, but felt the need to say, "You're still irritating."

"Yeah. But you're still an asshole, so that's all right."

And it was. This didn't change them, either individually or together, but it definitely gave Derek hope for the future, something he hadn't had in far too long.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're gonna have to go back to school eventually."

It had been three weeks since Stiles had stormed back into town, settling Derek and making him stronger. Better. 

Three weeks of testing the boundaries of Derek's control. Three weeks of negotiations with the various hunter groups that covered the territories near Beacon Hills, working out treaties that allowed for pack growth without ceding territory. Three weeks of hand holding and kisses and learning to accept random touches.

There were times Derek felt nostalgic for the burning, wild control that had come from mindless anger. He knew logically that this was better, but relying on someone else for control was disconcerting. More than that, it was fucking terrifying.

"Yeah," Stiles sighed, allowing his head to loll against Derek's shoulder as they relaxed on the couch. "Not really looking forward to it, to be honest."

Derek didn't respond because everything he could think to say was too telling. _Me either_ and _don't go_ or _take me with you._ That wasn't them. That wasn't their relationship. It was too much to put on Stiles' shoulders, but Derek... 

He turned his head, letting the scent of Stiles fill his nostrils, letting that feeling of _strength_ and solidity fill his very bones. He'd fucked up, grown accustomed to this closeness. He'd let himself rely on having Stiles near to hand. He craved the hand on the back of his neck, cupid's bow mouth pressed to his own.

They hadn't taken it any further than kisses. And even those were few and far between as they felt out their individual boundaries without doing anything so complicated as _talking_. Derek hated talking on a good day, and for all Stiles' chatter, he broke out in hives if the conversation turned meaningful.

God, they were a pair.

"Can't I just take you back with me?" Stiles sighed, a whisper of sound that held a world of longing. 

Derek stiffened, everything in him twisting with hope. A hope he couldn't allow himself to feel. Not yet.

There were a thousand reasons Stiles might want to bring a piece of home back with him to school. It might have very little to do with Derek himself. 

"Why?" Derek asked, wincing at how harsh the word sounded exploding from his chest.

"No idea, _ass._ " Stiles headbutted his shoulder before snuggling into it again. "Maybe I've grown accustomed to your face."

"This isn't My Fair Lady," Derek growled, sliding down enough so that Stiles' head naturally transferred from his shoulder to the crook of his neck.

"Who was the Audrey Hepburn fan in your family?" 

"Mom." Derek had learned, finally, that sharing memories of his family lessened the pain of remembering them. It didn't have to always be fire and smoke that filled his head when he thought of them.

"Yeah. Mine, too, though Dad likes Rex Harrison, so..." Stiles turned his head as he spoke so that the last few words were muffled by the bare skin of Derek's throat. His lips moving over the highly sensitive area had Derek half-hard immediately. 

"Stiles." He had no idea what to follow that up with, but that was fine because Stiles was there, filling in the blanks for him.

"I wanna touch your dick." The blunt statement was so _Stiles_ that it knocked the breath out of Derek, who just slid the rest of the way down the sofa, pulling on Stiles until he was stretched out between Derek's splayed legs. Propping himself up on an elbow that dug painfully into Derek's arm, he added, "I mean, I want more than that. But that's kinda all I can think about lately. It's very distracting."

Shrugging his shoulder until Stiles' pointy elbow slid to the couch cushion, Derek raised an eyebrow. "Does it look like I'm stopping you?"

Stiles licked his lips, excitement rolling off him and mingling with the aroused musk that continuously hung around him like a scent cloud. Reaching down, he stroked his hand over Derek's cock once before he began tearing at the button and zip on his jeans.

When Derek deftly returned the favor, Stiles grinned down at him. "Yeah?"

"I might be an asshole," Derek said, rolling his eyes, "but I'm not selfish."

"Sweet." Stiles fell forward, all wet lips and tongue, huffing a laugh into Derek's mouth as they tangled up in one another, fingers tugging and twisting palms scraping just a bit too dry over sensitive skin until precome eased the way. 

Derek held out just long enough to be able to say Stiles had come first, and then he allowed the orgasm that had been building in the pit of his stomach and tightening his balls to roar through him, knocking a loud groan from him.

Panting heavily on his chest, Stiles gathered himself enough to say, "Yeah. Definitely want to take you back to school with me."

Wrapping his arms around Stiles, Derek rolled his hips up, surreptitiously wiping as much come on Stiles' clothes as possible. Because he was an asshole, not because he felt any need for Stiles to smell like him. Like _them_. 

"We'll kill each other inside a week," Derek predicted.

"I'm not hearing you say 'no.'" Stiles snuggled into his chest, growing heavier by the second.

Scooting around until Stiles fell between him and the back of the couch, Derek sighed and closed his eyes, letting post-coital slumber wrap him in its tentacles. "Well, I hear real estate in Los Angeles is a good investment."

In an exhausted slur, Stiles said, "We can totally get you acting jobs. The gruff cop with the heart of gold. Bonus! You can play his K9 partner too! Derek Hale: One Man Show." 

Derek opened one eye, glaring at Stiles' closed lids. "I'm regretting this already, and I haven't even said yes yet."

"Yet? What more do I need to do?" Stiles grumbled, breathing evening out into the deep, steady rhythms of sleep.

Just before following Stiles, Derek buried his face in Stiles' neck and whispered, "Dunno. But you've got the rest of the summer to figure it out."

**Author's Note:**

> "Sus lobos" = "your wolves"
> 
> "Dejanos." = "Leave us."


End file.
